


Damned Across Fated Paths

by PleiadesWhispers



Category: RWBY
Genre: Angst, Gen, Oscar didn't ask for this either but we're still here, Ozpin didn't ask for any of this but here we are, Ozpin just cares for his children okay, maybe light comfort here, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 10:13:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17465591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PleiadesWhispers/pseuds/PleiadesWhispers
Summary: Ozpin had already damned the gods once for cursing him by throwing him into this world and shoving into his hands an impossible task, but this? This especially felt like nothing more than a cruel joke.Damn them again, for forcing a child into this mess.---Or: Ozpin's thought process of being merged with Oscar.Covers the time from after Volume 3 through part of Volume 4.





	Damned Across Fated Paths

**Author's Note:**

> *kneads hands together awkwardly*  
> So... I got this idea literally last night, and I just started writing since then and I don't think I've focused on anything else since?
> 
> Ozpin cares for the kids a lot and honestly gives them choices to stick with him and help or leave if they want, so reincarnating into a kid who doesn't really get to have that choice in the long run? Without having time to let the kid be a kid?? Had to have felt like an INCREDIBLY low blow to him. 
> 
> Anyways, title's a reference to The Most Cursed of Hands/Who Am I by The Dear Hunter (Act V, while telling an incredibly different story, has some songs with lines that feels appropriate for immortal dad and farm son). I also apologize in advance if this is a mess, this isn't a very happy mess either so I also apologize for the angst I'm throwing these two characters into but now I'm rambling. Enjoy?

It felt a little like being pulled to the surface, after drifting underwater long enough for your senses to dull.

He’d gone through this process repeatedly, so it wasn’t unfamiliar; the discomfort of waiting and awaking in the sea of consciousness of another mortal never would fade, however. Being a drifting presence in the mind of another with full autonomy was awkward in the beginning, but he never pushed the boundary of attempting to gain control. Centuries of doing this, after all, and he would rather the soul he resided with could enjoy a few more days of peace.

(He would rather bask in such peace himself, if for a moment, but if the pressing memories linked to his latest death were any indication, time would be rather limited.)

With those years of experience however, came an intuition of steel that had yet to fail him. He could feel his host’s heartbeat shaking, gasping from a nightmare--one he must have influenced, he warily knew, his final memories of Beacon still haunting him in the back of his own thoughts. A sense of dread was planting itself, taking root, and he knew better than to ignore it. As much as he could with his limited awareness, he studied his host’s surroundings with what he could see.

A room that was homely, brown and full of warmth. An abundance of books, some scattered on the floor, and a shelf below a window full of more, if the small glimpse he got was any indication. The books seemed to be the only mess, with a chest to the side and coats hanging neatly near the door. To most it would appear clean, but something told him that perhaps there was the chance that this room wasn’t well-lived in, the more he looked.

The room was connected to the loft above a barn, and Ozpin watched with curiosity as his newest reincarnation went about his day, keeping his thoughts as hushed as he absolutely could. Every new reincarnation, every new host, held a plethora of open thoughts and memories, but in the beginning, he did his best not to intrude (A little like watching a movie first-hand, he joked to himself once, but the thought left a bitter taste in his mouth). Mainly for the sake of his newest reincarnation, but to allow himself to adjust to the new body as well; like stretching after waking up, after laying still for so long.

He patiently watched through the mundane farming tasks, the early dawn light going from pale reds and violets to orange, and eventually a full sunrise. It was a little assuring, seeing how well his newest host maneuvered around the farm; swift and agile, while handling the tools with ease--he would take to Ozpin’s training well. Seeing the peaceful landscape helped the former headmaster settle from the worries of his old students and the situation he left them in -- thoughts that never lingered when he heard his host humming (softly, quietly, and warm) -- but his instincts didn’t stop gnawing at him. _Couldn’t._

When the sun rose considerably over the horizon, his worries entirely faded from his students _(Did they survive? How many were traumatized? Were they all safely evacuated? How did his professors handle the situation?)_ , and that to his host. When were pitchforks ever that tall -- and the thought that brought more dread -- were pitchforks taller than the average man even _produced?_

A voice called from the distance -- a woman by the house neighboring the barn -- and it seemed to break his host’s concentration, as well as his own.

“Oscar! Are you awake? Wash your hands and come on over, breakfast will be ready soon!”

“You didn’t make that egg mess again, did you?” His host joked in response, almost on instinct, with a voice lighter than what Ozpin was comfortable with. He barely heard the woman’s response, the small laugh that followed, unable to focus on anything than the creeping feeling of horror and how lightly his host hummed.

It would expedite the process of his presence beginning to weighing down in his host’s mind, but Ozpin began to dig at the surface of his host’s memories. Anything to quell his worries, the one fear he always had when he began his pattern of reincarnations, but nothing he saw brought relief.

Memories of a wrung-out childhood, pain, and false adulthood. More recent ones of warmth, mundane tasks, and visible progress of emotional healing, laced with the scent of cinnamon and apples. The same warm scent as the house his host walked into, but he barely noticed their surroundings as his host maneuvered through the building.

His first reincarnation had been fairly young, just a few years past the bridge into adulthood, and the ones that followed had always varied from young to old--but the point was the same. They had all been adults.

This host held no memories that would even give the slightest indication of being close to adulthood.

He snapped back to reality, hearing a sink of water running, and a different hum of a tune _(it felt so familiar, but he couldn’t focus on why it was so familiar)_ while his host washed his hands. There was a mirror above the sink and Ozpin immediately pushed to look up at it -- a small request, distant enough that it would have felt like an impulse -- and his host raised his head.

The face of a teenager, a young boy, a _child_ , stared back from the mirror, wrinkling his freckled nose for a moment in mere fun before reaching for the soap.

 _‘Oh, no,’_ Ozpin groaned. The feeling of misery, that he had pushed so hard away, was now flooding back to him, pulling him under.

\------

The boy, he quickly learned, was named Oscar Pine.

Oscar, only fourteen years old.

As old as the first-year Signal Academy students, who were still being taught general curriculum alongside the skills required of being a Hunter or Huntress, so they would have one last chance to back out of a career that could end their lives so quickly. Students who still held the choice to take control of their lives and lead them the way that they wanted. Students who could still hold onto their innocence for another five years at least, and longer if only the world would have allowed it. 

Younger than the Beacon students. Younger than Ruby Rose, or other students he had accepted early into his academy. Younger than any of the students who had been present -- fighting -- at the Vytal festival.

It seemed the gods felt that they hadn’t kicked Ozpin hard enough the past few lives, and decided now to retaliate. 

It seemed that the gods -- damn them -- felt similarly about this boy, for some awful reason.

As it were, Ozpin did his best to stay out of Oscar’s memories as much as he could, studying what few that slipped across the boy’s consciousness. He felt awful, intruding on the boy’s thoughts like this, but it would be the only way that he could get to know the boy. Previous experiences had suggested such -- it was easier on them both if he waited until he knew whose mind he was sharing before introducing himself. 

Most of Oscar’s childhood memories were unpleasant, mostly blocked by the extent of his childhood trauma, but remnants of it lingered. In the early morning, when the nightmares became a little too strong (and a little more frequent since Ozpin arrived, he noted with a heavy heart), the memories associated with them would linger; in the way that images would flash through their mind, and every time Oscar would scratch at the bandages around his neck when nobody was present (they didn’t cover a wound, but they hid scars that the boy would try to ignore, forcing back whatever memories weren’t blocked off). 

So, it wasn’t a surprise that the longer he observed, the more he noticed more of Oscar’s mannerisms, how his responses were shaped negatively compared to those situations. The boy held quite a tongue, conversing with his aunt as though sarcasm itself was a language of its own, but was quick to hide away in the occasional presence of a stranger. If he were brought forward, forced to socialize, he’d trip over his words and couldn’t make eye contact until he felt at ease. The most troubling part of it was how the boy viewed himself. Ozpin could see that he held the potential to help others, but it was easy to see that Oscar would regard himself with reckless abandon, through thoughts that a child should not hold. Should _never_ have to hold.

Oscar was home schooled, the farm a nice walking distance from neighboring farms and one train station with sparsely-placed homes to really justify having a school in this area (They were in Mistral, it took Ozpin a while to learn -- a train ride away from Haven, he noted when he realized where exactly he was). The only bit of technology that was near was the home scroll, and a worn television that managed to reach what necessary news station there was. Close but far from society, and closed off enough from it -- Ozpin could see why Oscar’s family sent him here to his aunt, of all places, to heal.

Yet within Oscar was a lingering feeling of, _'I want to do more, I wish I could do more, How can I do more,'_ coupled with an underlying bravery that the former headmaster had seen aplenty through the strongest of his former students -- and past incarnations. His willingness to help others could be nurtured to recover from his self-esteem, and maybe then he could help others without the worry that he would be placing his own life on the line. The few days that smaller Grimm -- and once, a baby _beowolf_ \-- managed to break into the farm grounds, the boy managed to dispatch them with relative ease, pending whatever farm tool he had on hand.

Well. The beowolf took a little bit of creativity and effort, and they certainly didn’t come out of the fight unscathed (but if Oscar woke up the next morning with his injuries fully healed, while Ozpin was exhausted from the strain of reaching through to focus their aura, neither of them were going to think much about it). Yet that creativity and determination was also the last thing, one of the boy’s many strengths that simultaneously worried the former headmaster. 

Oscar’s mind was also home to an imagination so vast and grand, dreaming of tales and of heroes, and of a life belonging to someone who wasn’t just a simple farm hand; the kind of imagination that only a child could possess. One that Ozpin could use as a last resort to sway the boy to help, a part of him thought unhelpfully and guiltily, but only as a last resort. 

He had already taken the childhoods of so many Hunters and Huntresses who had lined up to help him and his cause; even if it was of their own will, he still felt responsible for shattering their imaginations with the ugly truth of reality. They had the option to make a choice, but for Oscar...

He damned the gods again, for placing him in this situation.  
It would be hard to give the boy a choice -- did he even have one?

 _‘You’ll forgive me if I wait a bit before taking action, will you Qrow?’_ Ozpin thought, knowing the request would never reach its recipient. _‘If only for the sake of this boy -- You’d understand, wouldn’t you?’_

Waiting was all he could bring himself to do, as in the little time he had been with Oscar, he was already feeling protective of the boy. He couldn’t quell the guilt he felt as he watched Oscar herd the farm animals with a feigned exasperation, finding fun in the task all the meanwhile.

\------

A few seasons, but not a year, had passed from the time he reincarnated to by the time he decided to make his presence known.

Eventually, it would have had to happen, anyway -- his thoughts would become an open book to the boy whether he liked it or not per the rules of the soul merger, and it would make the process easier if he could introduce himself before they reached that point. Ozpin would also have preferred to make his introduction after giving Oscar one last year of peace, but the boy seemed to be catching onto his presence. 

It started with his thoughts impeding the boy’s. If Ozpin thought Oscar should have done something -- perhaps completing a small chore instead of reading one last chapter of a book while giving a tsk -- he found that Oscar would soon think better of his prioritization and do the task. The boy’s nightmares became more vivid and frequent, melding with Ozpin’s memories as they rested. Later, Oscar would give lingering looks at the mirror, and Ozpin could clearly hear the thought in his head, the feeling that someone else was present with him.

Ozpin soon realized that he was beginning to run out of time the moment he absentmindedly thought of a song; Oscar hummed it from beginning to end, and both were startled as Oscar’s thoughts suddenly flooded with the realization that he didn’t know what he had hummed. Oscar wasn’t even sure if he even _had_ heard that particular tune before, or not, and threw himself into such a tizzy that his aunt told him to rest for the day. 

(That definitely wasn’t an ideal time to introduce himself; the least Ozpin could do was try to distantly comfort him. While doing his best to keep his own memories locked away while the boy napped, if only to keep his own nightmares at bay, it became painfully clear how their merging situation had advanced.)

Rather than jumping to introduce himself, he waited; given Oscar’s mannerisms, he probably would accidentally shock the boy to death if he did so without warning. Waited until the boy was alone, noted his presence, and if he said something, he would respond.

He grimaced, that feeling of guilt rising once again when his attempt to reach out only ended with the boy screaming. 

They both could hear his aunt shouting something distantly to them -- to Oscar -- but it seemed lost to the both of them, and Oscar’s thoughts were racing far too quickly for Ozpin to intervene and calm him. Promptly, the boy jumped to his feet, his gaze darting around in his confusion -- _'who was that voice where did it come from why is it speaking to me why am I hearing voices suddenly why why why'_ \--

“Oscar. Oscar!” It seemed futile to try to call out the boy after a few moments, and even more so to try to get him to relax. Ozpin cursed himself for managing to shock him anyway, as Oscar fell back into the hay pile once again. 

Maybe he shouldn’t have taken such a casual approach.

“There’s nobody here. You’re just tired, Oscar, you haven’t been sleeping very well recently,” Oscar tried to reassure himself between gasps of air, pressing the palms of his hands against his eyes, his mind racing faster than he could speak. “It’s probably because of the nightmares. There’s nobody stalking you, or maybe another small Grimm got into the barn. It’ll be okay.”

Ozpin paused for a moment before he decided to reach out again, this time speaking softly to his host. “It _will_ be okay.”

Another sharp intake of breath. “There it is again.” Oscar exhaled, and tried to take in a deep breath, but unsteadily; for a moment he seemed like he was about to hyperventilate again. “Oh gods, what’s happening?”

“Do you think you could try to take a few deep breaths with me?” Ozpin questioned, feeling a little relieved when Oscar shifted in response.

“Why thanks mysterious voice," Oscar sarcastically replied, his voice breaking from anxiety, "I can’t even see you, how are you suppose to-”

“Breathe in.”

Oscar was skeptical, but managed to listen regardless. The boy’s budding acceptance of the situation was growing only from the feeling of resignation, and guilt bubbled within Ozpin’s mind again as he tried to guide Oscar through the breathing exercises.

He’d had months to try to put this together, but this brought a bit of finality to the situation and how it settled in. He was calming a child he’d just met, a child who was forcibly dragged into his affairs, and would be forcibly dragged into what other troubles those affairs brought. At Beacon, he always wanted to give the children an option--he didn’t realize how much he’d be dragging Oscar into his affairs anyway just by association. 

Even if he didn’t have physical control over their body, the breathing exercises felt like they were in a reminder to calm himself as well, given what he was about to do--what he had been doing.

“Okay. Okay, I think I’ve got it under control now,” Oscar murmured, his hands moving away from his face and to his chest. One hand absentmindedly tugged at the bandages around his neck as he leaned back into the hay pile. “Where... are you? You said you were... a professor, right? Who are you?”

Ozpin gave a sigh. Actively accepting the situation put on an additional weight of burden he hadn’t expected, and he wasn’t sure where to begin other than speaking softly and with care. “My name is Professor Ozpin,” he began, pausing as he let the words settle into Oscar’s mind. “I... was the Headmaster of Beacon Academy.”

He paused again when he heard Oscar draw in a deep breath. “Was,” Oscar repeated, his voice shaking slightly. His hands raised, almost as though he wanted to hide his face behind his gloves, but he stopped. “Beacon... That was the academy that was attacked in Vale, wasn’t it?” He quietly asked.

The memories were splayed out for them both; the swarm of Grimm that had run rampant on the school grounds. News clips of the fallen Beacon clock tower. Images of a woman in the darkness, burning a fiery red. 

Recalling it all, and seeing the damage -- even in the eyes of a boy who was distant to the incident and saw only footage -- left Ozpin reeling for a moment. “Yes,” he replied, and then repeated, “I was the headmaster of that academy.”

“You keep saying that,” Oscar groaned, hiding his face behind his hands again, and Ozpin could feel the boy’s bubbling frustration. “What’s going on?”

“Well.” Now that they were actually having this conversation, Ozpin wasn’t sure if his planned approach to break the news really would go well. So, he steeled himself, and simply ripped off the metaphorical bandage. “Our auras and souls have combined, to simply put it.”

“ _Our what?_ ” The boy nearly shrieked the words, nearly panicking once again, and Ozpin did his best to try to calm Oscar down. “I’m dreaming. I’m absolutely dreaming, how is this even possible?”

Ozpin paused again, mulling over his words. “You... have heard of the tale of the two brothers, yes?”

“The Gods of Light and Dark, right?” Oscar sharply replied, glancing around his surroundings. “What does that have to do with-”

“What if I told you that story was real? Among countless other fairy tales.”

“... That sounds fake but okay.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Ozpin chuckled lightly. “Our merging, I’m afraid, is part of a curse bestowed upon me by those gods specifically, to live countless years on this earth by reincarnating-”

He was cut off by Oscar jumping up back up, stretching his arms over his head. “ALRIGHT,” Oscar exclaimed, a little far too loudly, and with a little too much feigned optimism. “Break time’s over! I must have hit my head a little too far fighting that beowolf last month. I should get back to work!”

“Oscar-” Ozpin tried to reach out again.

 _‘Please,_ please _just shut up,’_ Oscar’s thoughts loudly replied, and Ozpin sighed. 

He hadn’t expected this negative of a response; this was only going to make things more difficult.

\------

Ozpin spent the better part of the next month trying to get through to the boy.

It was always during Oscar’s free time, in reading books between studies and farm work, in the moments before bed but not lasting too late as to hinder the boy’s sleeping patterns (which had already been thrown off-kilter by the amount of nightmares he’d been having recently). Only sparingly would he offer a thought while the boy was working, and he once thought he managed to break through when giving Oscar advice on a small Grimm that had broken into the barn. That was a short-lived hope though, as the boy did his best to shove him into the back of his mind right after the Grimm had been handled.

“Oscar, can we talk?” He would plead every time, only to be brushed off every time with various excuses.

“Huh, I should go check on the plants again,” “I wonder if we’ve got the movie for this book,” “Maybe we could get a radio, I need something new to hum while working,” and the good, old classic “I’m not listening!” were common responses. He even got a “Can we talk about how the voice in my head apparently can’t shut up? We can’t? No talk then,” one time, when Oscar was in a particularly foul mood.

The night following that particular attempt, Ozpin couldn’t help but sigh once Oscar had fallen asleep, and even if he didn’t have his own body to move he would’ve felt like raking his hand down his face. 

The morning news that would play on the television had given rise to concerns, showing reports of no progress on restoring communication towers in Vale and reporting even more Grimm in the area than before. Some afternoons while Oscar was working on his schoolwork, his aunt would return home from errands, remarking on the lack of Hunters and Huntresses in the area. One particular night, a Nevermore was spotted, circling above the farmlands, and they’d been forced to take residence in the basement shelter for a few days. 

Salem already knew that he was dead, and she was moving forward with her own plans. The one life he would have rather lived in relative peace -- should be living in relative peace -- and she was tearing down everything he had spent multiple lifetimes to built up, faster than he could do damage control. How many lives were lost that night at Beacon? Why couldn’t she be satisfied with his death, and his death alone?

A part of him gave a reminder that she was already searching for him, most likely -- though he had reincarnated earlier than usual, it generally took much longer before he could take action. A few years drifting, and another few to make peace and get to know his new host. Some time after and they would eventually, fully merge. A process usually taken up with adults that had to be _expedited_ with a _child_. And Salem... she wouldn’t have any qualms about killing a child to get what she wanted, especially for Ozpin to die once more. His heart warily reminded him of that fact, every time he noted the passing seasons.

The more Ozpin remembered that particular fact, he felt like kicking himself, but that wouldn’t be of any help to Oscar. The gods had certainly spat on them both, it seemed. 

He had lives before where he had simply taken over for the full course, and the merge felt more like a slap on the wrist with certain mannerisms appearing and other habits being drowned out. If Oscar wouldn’t be willing to listen, he could always do that again, some part of Ozpin reminded him, and he especially wanted to kick himself for those particular thoughts.

He couldn’t do that; not to a child, of all people.

Frustration and exhaustion were shared emotions, and the more Ozpin felt it, the more Oscar seemed to be annoyed in return as well, whether it be due to Ozpin reaching out, or just the hardships that the farm was hurtling towards. It was beginning to surface in the boy, whose playful sarcasm with his aunt was growing more bitter here and there from time to time, who was growing more tired mentally, and was finding less fun in reading various novels. When his aunt commented once on it, Ozpin could feel that Oscar wanted to talk to her about what was going on, and couldn’t bring himself to do so. He could hear the exhaustion in the boy’s voice as he replied to his aunt, no, he’s feeling fine, just a little tired. 

In a way, it felt like his own presence was beginning to isolate Oscar from the one close relationship he had with his family, and Ozpin knew he had to do something about their situation before the merging took them both by surprise. 

When he finally decided to act on getting the boy’s attention -- with the possibility of stopping the boy using force that he didn’t want to use -- Ozpin was faintly aware of Oscar getting up, moving to the door with lingering thoughts of dinner and what he’d read from his book, and Ozpin reached out once again.

“We need to leave,” he sternly spoke, and was surprised when the boy stopped.

He hadn’t actually expected for Oscar to stop and listen. 

He especially didn’t expect it when Oscar wanted to talk to him later that night, hesitantly asking questions about Ozpin’s former life and situation, and later explaining bits of his own past that Ozpin had seen before.

By midnight, they had agreed to discuss more about the situation and formulate a plan. Hesitant as Oscar was, it seemed that he was becoming sick and tired of being unable to do anything about the growing concern of Grimm, and slowly was beginning to accept what was happening.

A part of Ozpin wished that Oscar hadn't accepted it.

\------

“Do you think this will be enough?”

The wariness that was in Oscar’s thoughts had long since settled, and Ozpin could feel again that the boy was only responding out of resignation rather than genuinely through his own will. It was reliving that they would be making the few steps forward to where they needed to go (Qrow should be in Mistral by now with his cane, somewhere near Haven if he remembered Ozpin’s instructions well), but it was Oscar’s reluctance that kept Ozpin from feeling too relieved, as they stared at the packed rucksack.

“Yes. That should be enough provisions and supplies to keep us safe until we reach Haven,” Ozpin replied, thinking to himself the mental checklist he had made prior to their awakening before the crack of dawn. “You finished writing what it was that you wanted to write to your aunt, yes?”

“Right before we went to sleep last night.” Their gaze shifted to the closed envelope resting by the bed, atop the low bookshelf. Oscar was trembling slightly, and Ozpin could see as his gaze darted anxiously around the room. There was a sense of finality, a sense of uncertainty in what would happen. 

“... Are you sure you want to go through with this, Oscar?”

The boy didn’t respond, but Ozpin could feel the boy’s hands curling into fists at his sides. Whatever Oscar was thinking, it wasn’t in a clear thought, a clear response, but Ozpin could feel the swirling complexity of what he was feeling. “No,” “Yes,” “I don’t know,” “I feel okay,” “I feel sick,” “This feels right,” “Why does this feel right?”, and so on. 

Before Ozpin could even say anything or attempt to comfort him, Oscar swiped up his rucksack, and left the room. _‘Don’t,’_ seemed to be the one solid response Oscar could give -- not even in a clear thought -- before Ozpin could even say anything. _‘Don’t say anything. Don’t pity me. Don’t comfort me. Don’t tell me what I’m doing is wrong. Don’t tell me this is right.’_ A repeated, unstable thought as he climbed down from the barn loft, slipping through the doors of the building.

“Just walk, then,” The former headmaster instructed.

He could tell how much Oscar wanted to run -- to go as far as he could before the emotions could really settle in -- but if he ran, he would only be farther away. If he wanted to turn back, it would make this difficult, but only for a matter of time. Ozpin desperately wished he could figure out how to assist the fight from afar, without bringing a child into this, but at the same time, his previous experiences told him that this would be nigh impossible.

Oscar, however, listened; with his heart drumming in his chest, he walked away from the barn. The boy only turned to look back at the farm once, just once, and that was when they were about to leave the grounds.

The further the boy walked away from his home -- his family -- his life -- the more Ozpin could read Oscar’s thoughts, could read how Oscar was truly beginning to accept this for what it was, and find ease in it.

Oscar Pine, only fourteen and still a child, already accepting his place in a war he should never have been dragged into.

Out of all the lives he had involved in this war between him and Salem, between light and dark, the lives of children were the ones that Ozpin felt the guiltiest about; but the lives of children who were forcibly involved would weigh heavier than lead, no matter how many times he had reincarnated. Oscar’s life, precious and thriving, weighed with those lives.

“I’m sorry,” Ozpin muttered in their mind, breaking the silence the moment he felt Oscar’s resolve strengthen once they reached the forests surrounding the farmlands. 

And then, a little more quietly, locked away to where Oscar couldn’t hear within their mind, _‘I hope you don’t forgive me.’_

**Author's Note:**

> If you stuck with me the full way through, thank you.
> 
> Complaints, raves, comments, concerns, or little editing remarks would be much appreciated! <3


End file.
